CITY WALK

You have somewhere to be. You order a ride from an app on your phone, to be picked up at your front door by someone who likely lives 10, 20, 50 miles outside of your city but commutes daily just to drive people like you around. You’ll walk out your front door, climb into their silver Prius, exchange pleasantries, deny their offer of water or a mint, and stare at your phone until you’re delivered to a new door. The car will be climate controlled and the driver will be listening to top 40 or jazz. You might pick up another rider on the way, but they’ll stare at their phone too so you won’t really interact.

But what if you walked there instead? If you allowed some extra time to have an un-curated, unpredictable experience, an experience that just was the way it was? What if you stepped into the street and felt the ground beneath you, determined the best route and took off? What if you strolled casually or walked briskly or just moved your legs at the pace that felt best? What if the moment you set out, you suddenly felt freer than you had all day, all week?

You might feel the sun on your skin, and then get sort of hot and take off a layer, and then feel a little cold. You’d smell things, pleasant and unpleasant: a neighbor cooking breakfast, exhaust emanating from an old car, the scent of strong coffee wafting from a cafe, urine on cement. You’d hear things too: two women with yoga mats complaining about their jobs, the wail of a saxophone played by a street performer, the groan of the city bus stopping to let people off.

You would pass others on the street, take in their outfits and hair and what they are carrying, maybe even look them in the eye. You’d wonder where they were going and why. You might walk by someone far less fortunate than you, someone without a home, someone struggling to survive. Seeing their face makes them real, not just a concept or a “problem” or a political issue. You’ll realize how much you have.

Maybe you’ll notice buildings and architecture. The charm of art-deco buildings from the 1920s contrasted with the cold grandeur of new skyscrapers. A mural — who commissioned it? What does it represent? Graffiti — how long until the city covers it up? Will the artist strike again? Who lives in this run down house? Who lives in this old brick mansion?

The best things you’ll witness on your walk through the city are moments. A teenage boy playing chess with his grandfather in a cafe, both deep in focus. A small girl waving at you through the window of her parents’ restaurant. A crazy lady twirling down the sidewalk with her arms outstretched passing a tough, serious looking guy who, to your surprise, also begins to twirl when he sees her. A dog crawling under a blanket on the sidewalk to keep its homeless owner warm while he sleeps.

Often the most mundane experiences are the most sacred. The most meaningful conversations are the ones you have with yourself, when you’re by yourself. A simple walk becomes a transcendent experience, because your view of the world changes when you immerse yourself in it. Though possible, it’s unlikely that will happen in an Uber.